


Cosine Theta

by setissma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, HP: EWE, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma
Summary: Triofic and all it's inevitable permutations, with a) first time b) legilimency sex c) Ron as a healer d) a house in the country with hedgehogs. (Sort of.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic - from 2007. Toooootally not epilogue compliant. Pretty much PWP triofic.

By the time Hermione and Ron break up, about the only thing they can agree on is that Harry shouldn’t be living alone. Ron’s working nights at Mungo’s, the sort of schedule that drives Hermione up one wall and down the other, so she’s the one that ends up moving out and in again. Ron carries her boxes and holds the ladder while she changes the light bulb in Harry’s spare room, and she thinks that it’s uncalled for, ridiculous, a mistake they shouldn’t be making, because Ron’s magnetic north and she’s the needle on a compass. They’re caught in each other’s gravitational pull, but it’s not enough and it hasn’t ever been enough, because he’s never outgrown the fear she doesn’t love him, even if the rest of his insecurities are locked away in the bottom of his Hogwarts trunk. Hermione doesn’t know how to make it work, between dishes and bookshelves and sex that hasn’t ever been good because he can’t relax and she’s never learned how to want things, how to want him.

He cups her face at the door, with Harry asleep on the couch behind them, worn out from moving furniture.

“It’ll sort,” Ron murmurs, thumb against her cheekbone, and kisses her one last time.

Living with Harry is strange, though, like he doesn’t know how to be with another person, even after seven years of sharing. It’s hard to separate things he likes from the things he doesn’t, because he’s learned not to say, and he’s almost too quiet, nervous, like he can’t calm down. She figures out three weeks in that he’s readable, just like he’s always been. He likes Chinese takeaway and oranges, always sleeps in the middle of his bed, and smiles when he catches her doing his laundry, like it’s something extraordinary.

“He’s afraid of being touched,” Ron says, when she brings him a sandwich in the middle of the night, trying to put together the pieces, and he looks tired, like Harry has all week.

She goes home and takes off her shoes, fitting a stocking foot between his leg and the couch as she settles on top of him, TV still a low murmur in the background, nose against the collar of his jumper, arm tucked against his ribcage. He’s still too thin.

“Hermione?” Harry says, uncertain and not entirely awake, and she can feel the tension all down his spine.

“Shut up,” she says, and kisses the corner of his mouth, just once.

He goes lax underneath her, fingers curled against the hem of her skirt. She watches him sleep, eyelashes smudged across his face in the streetlight glow, listening to the slow in and out of his breathing after the late night news broadcast, when the television glows a dim blue.

Harry’s human, and not so hard to figure out, for all that he pretends. Hermione knows all the secrets he thinks he’s kept to himself, knows he’s convinced himself that he has to be alone. She knows what he’s thinking when he stops with his hand halfway to a glass in the cabinet, caught outside of things.

“It’s not unforgivable,” she says, and lets him in, because Harry’s only had them, his entire life, and she’s tired of leaving him shut out in the cold.

They don’t sleep together – it’s not _about_ that – but he likes to sleep with his hands against her ribs, fingers against the lace of her bra, and she likes the way he laughs when she climbs in the shower with him, daring, like they’re seventeen and rebellious, breaking all the rules.

“I haven’t seen a lot of naked women,” he says, amused, reaching past her for the soap, and she laughs at him.

“You can’t see to begin with,” Hermione points out, because his glasses are safe in the bedroom and she knows she’s little more than a blur.

“No,” he agrees, but he’s not so tense around the edges, anymore, and when he buries his face against her shoulder, later, sleeping, she thinks it might come out all right after all.

“So are you - ” Ron says, in the kitchen, on his night off, and she knows how they look, the way Harry always knows where she is in a room, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, the way she tucks her hands against his stomach when they get cold.

“No,” she says, then, “Yes,” then, “I don’t know,” but she knows the look on Ron’s face, the one where everything’s second hand. She’s not sure who’s taken whom, though – whether it’s her he’s jealous of, or Harry.

“We can’t just leave him out of it, you know,” Harry says, drowsy, head against her stomach as she reads. She takes off his glasses and kisses him, slow and warm, like they’ve been doing it for years, and his eyes are a shade of green she’s only ever seen in spring, the only unfamiliar thing here. He spreads a hand against the side of her face, tentative, and watches her, the corner of his mouth turned up, like he’s not quite sure. “I can’t just take you.”

“No,” Hermione agrees, and knows it works the other way, that Harry is Ron’s in a way that nothing else has ever been, that it has to be the way it was, balanced in thirds.

They go to Ron’s on Tuesday, catch him half-asleep and not very put together.

“If you want my blessing,” he says, while Harry’s in the kitchen making tea, and Hermione tries not to laugh with stupid, giddy relief, because she’s still in love with him and has been all along, and this, she thinks, this is how it might work.

“He’s awfully skittish, for that,” she murmurs, and then Harry slides in behind Ron on the sofa, carefully balancing his teacup.

“Hi,” Harry says, and Hermione thinks it’s been a year since she’s watched them like this, together, Ron’s shoulders against Harry’s chest, both of them evening out.

Ron watches both of them, like he’s not sure, but it’s Harry who leans in a little closer. “I figured,” he says, a little flushed. “I thought -”

Hermione kisses him, hard, two inches from Ron’s face, and it’s the first time she’s seen him like this, the first time she understands why all the girls follow Harry around. There’s power humming just beneath his skin, where he curls his fingers against her wrist, a world away from the boy who won’t buy new glasses and always wears jumpers three sizes too big.

“You - ” Ron says, face pale, fingers tight against the sofa, but Harry leans in.

“She’s yours,” he murmurs, against Ron’s jaw. “But I am, too.”

“Oh,” Ron murmurs, and Hermione watches emotions slide across his face, like he’s not sure where this is going, eyes wide like the first time they kissed.

“If that’s okay,” Harry says, anxiety pulling at the edges of his mouth, giving him away.

Hermione wants to tell Ron all the things this means, fill in the pieces with the understanding that it’s always been about Harry, about the three of them, but Ron leans forward before she can say anything, forehead against hers. “It’s all right?” he asks, soft.

“It’s Harry,” she murmurs, like he isn’t just on the other side of the sofa, and Ron laughs, wide and open.

“Should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” he replies, and pulls Harry down for a kiss, slow and hungry.

They’ve both wanted this a long time; she can tell from the way Ron leans in and Harry lets him take control, a hand spread wide against Hermione’s shoulder for stability. She can feel Harry tremble, a little, as she slides into Ron’s lap, his eyes closing. Ron makes a soft noise against his mouth, reassuring, and Harry laughs, softly, nervous.

“Let him in the middle,” she murmurs, to Ron, and he grins at her and turns, hands on her hips holding her steady.

“Hermione wants to say hello,” he teases, relaxed and warm, and Hermione realizes how much she missed this easy balance. Ron keeps a hand against the small of her back as she shifts, settling in Harry’s lap again, and this – strange as it is – is familiar territory, together looking after Harry, like they’ve been doing since they were eleven.

“We should talk,” Hermione murmurs, with a smile, because Harry’s fingers are clutched against her shirt, like he’s still not sure.

“You’re daft,” Ron says, a little incredulously, but Hermione figures he gets it because he leans in and settles an arm around Harry’s shoulders, in close.

“It’s really more that we’re yours,” she murmurs, against the curve of Harry’s jaw, and Ron curls a hand against the back of his neck and squeezes, shaking his head a little. She’s never quite gotten the secret language of boys.

“She means we’re for good,” Ron says, a little rough, watching Harry instead of her. “She means we always have been.”

“You two,” Harry clarifies. “You’re - ”

“Completely fucked without you,” Ron interrupts, giving over to humor.

Harry blinks, slowly.

“Stop being such a girl,” Ron says, rolling his eyes. “One of us is just going to have to buy a bigger bed, is all.”

Harry relaxes underneath her, then shifts, as if he’s only just realized he’s got someone in his lap. “About – beds - ” he says, flushed, and Hermione’s pretty sure it isn’t just because his body’s starting to realize, too.

“Yeah,” Ron says, and murmurs something, low enough that Hermione can’t hear. Harry’s flush only deepens.

“What?” she says, because she’s never liked being the one without the answer, and Ron leans in, hand under her shirt, warm against her back.

“He hasn’t done this much,” he whispers, against her jaw, in between kisses. “I told him we’d teach him.”

Then he tips her face up and kisses her the way she’s always wanted him to, dark and a little bit rough, like he’s stopped trying to be perfect and is letting himself be real, instead. They break apart when Harry makes a soft noise, and Ron laughs.

“Do you like watching?” he teases, and Harry goes an even deeper red, all the way down past his collar, where Hermione can’t see.

“Ron’s impossible,” she clarifies, leaning in close, and nudges a kiss to his forehead.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, sounding tired and uncertain, but he laughs at the look Hermione gives Ron.

“You want to give us five minutes?” Ron says, finally, nudging a kiss to her shoulder through her shirt. 

Ron’s always been good at calming Harry down, so she steps into the washroom – everything exactly where she left it when she moved – and lets her hair down, undoing her shirt. When she comes back, they’re still on the sofa, but she can almost feel the difference.

Harry’s leaning back against Ron’s chest, settled between his knees, and Ron’s got a hand spread across his stomach, the other stroking through his hair. Ron’s smug, but Hermione doesn’t entirely mind because Harry looks significantly calmer, eyes almost closed in drowsy pleasure.

“Don’t put him to sleep,” she murmurs, amused, and watches Harry’s breath catch when he opens his eyes to watch her cross the room.

Ron laughs, again. “You’ve seen this show before,” he offers, and Harry flushes, laughing too.

“I wasn’t really looking, before,” he admits, and Hermione grins.

“Hopeless,” Ron says, and Hermione settles back next to them, stretched out on her stomach. Harry’s shifting his hips like he can’t quite get comfortable, and she undoes the last buttons and slides out of her shirt.

“Here,” Ron says, and kisses him, rough and dirty, what Hermione figures is a pretty effective distraction so she can get close without Harry noticing. She nuzzles across his stomach, the sharp curve of his hipbone, until Harry stops kissing Ron and catches his breath, almost stammering.

“Just - ” Hermione says, his skin warm beneath her mouth, and Ron tugs his hands up over his head, a palm curled around his wrists to keep him steady. He brushes a thumb across her cheekbone with his other hand, grinning down at her, and she shifts and breathes on Harry’s erection through his trousers, until he gasps and squirms a little, like he’s not entirely sure whether she means it.

“You don’t have to be so quiet,” she hears Ron murmur, against Harry’s neck, and she can feel him shiver all over. Ron nudges her shoulder with his calf, and she undoes the button on Harry’s jeans, sliding her fingers inside before undoing the zip. He’s hot beneath her hand, and so hard he’s probably hurting, because he catches his breath again when she tries to tug his jeans down, breathing uneven.

“You’re both watching me,” he manages, obviously flustered, and Hermione can hear Ron laugh.

“Kind of the point,” he offers, and she gives up and uses a spell, sending his jeans to the laundry, nudging Harry’s knees open when he’s down to his boxers. Ron unbuttons his shirt and brushes a thumb over a nipple, which makes Harry jump. Then Ron slides his whole hand down, palm against Harry’s stomach, and goes a little further, down into his shorts.

“Easy,” he murmurs, when Harry starts to pant, shifting to let Harry’s head fall back against his shoulder, and Hermione pulls his boxers off, giving Ron a little more room.

“There we go,” Ron says, softly, and strokes a few times before he lets her move in, sliding her mouth down over Harry’s cock. She can hear them kissing, Ron’s soft reassurances and Harry’s low moan, and then she looks up to find them both watching her. Ron’s flushed, more turned on than she’s ever seen him, and Harry’s glasses are tilted. He’s barely breathing, and she nudges a thumb against the inside of Ron’s knee, with a soft noise in the back of her throat, sucking a little deeper.

“Here,” Ron murmurs, easing his glasses off, and they kiss again, Harry panting against Ron’s mouth. She slides back, curling a hand against his thigh, and then down again, and Harry’s hips buck, leaving her holding him down. He shivers, once, hard, and comes when Ron whispers something in his ear, gasping. Hermione swallows, and Ron laughs again, letting his hands go.

“You’re going to crash,” he says, and Harry manages a dazed, sheepish smile, eyes finally opening.

“Yeah,” he says, and looks at her, reaching to pull her up for a kiss. “Yeah, Hermione - ” and she can’t help but laugh at him, a little.

“Hopeless,” Ron says, again, and eases out from underneath him, wincing a little.

“He’s hard,” Harry says, a little mischievously, a little drowsily. “You should do something about that.”

“Thanks,” Ron offers, dryly, but he’s looking at her in a way they’ve never quite managed, slow and building and _utterly_ turned on.

“Maybe,” Hermione says, and kisses him, meaning for it to be only once, but then she can’t stop, tugging his jumper off between kisses, feeling his hands undo her bra. She can hear Harry laughing, feels him shift to the other end of the sofa, and then she’s sliding down into Ron’s lap again, his hands tangled in her hair.

“Missed you,” he manages, against her mouth, and Hermione’s pretty sure they’ve both waited long enough, but she can’t seem to stop kissing him to find out. Ron slides a hand up, to brush his fingers against the curve of her breast, and they stay like that until she feels a hand on her shoulder, one she’s pretty sure isn’t Ron’s, and pulls back.

“Weren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Ron says, a little irritably, but Harry ducks in and kisses him, laughing.

“You woke me up,” Harry says, and Hermione manages to get out of her stockings and knickers, finally focused enough to disappear Ron’s jeans.

“Fuck,” Ron manages, when they’re down to a layer of thin cotton between them, and it’s Harry who manages the appropriate contraceptive charms and gets rid of Ron’s boxers while they kiss, Ron holding her close.

“Is it okay if - ” Ron says, and Hermione shifts back into his lap and lifts her hips, sliding down onto him.

“Quite possibly,” she says, and lets Harry kiss her, feels him palm her knee.

“He wants you – ah, deeper,” Harry murmurs, flushed again, and Hermione’s too turned on to be startled.

“Hey,” Ron says, a very breathless protest, and Harry leans in for a kiss. “You’re thinking it so loud I can’t miss it,” he offers, a little sheepish.

“Just don’t start in with - the parseltongue,” Ron manages, head going back against the sofa as his eyes close, and Hermione spreads her knees a little further, lets him press up into her a little more, circling his hips a little, slow enough to drive her crazy.

“Here,” Harry says, and settles warm, calloused hands on her hips to press down a little, his chest against her back. Ron slides in deeper, and Hermione’s never been one of _those_ girls, but there have always been certain advantages to dating Ron. She can feel her breathing go uneven, with Harry’s weight behind her, as he nuzzles against her shoulder, tugging Ron’s hand down, until he gets the idea and slides it between her legs, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You can - ” Harry says, nudging her back a little so Ron can thrust up, finding a slow, slightly uneven rhythm, hips stuttering as she moves with him. Hermione thinks it might be a little strange, having Harry as a conduit to what she’s thinking, what he’s feeling, but she’s too close to care, her skirt shoved up around her hips and Ron kissing her while Harry watches, all three of them breathless.

“Oh,” Harry says, sliding back a little, and pulls her down as Ron moves, nudging her until she’s on her back, pressed up against one arm of the sofa with Ron over her, letting him thrust so hard he’s got her pinned. Harry slides his fingers down Ron’s spine, close, murmuring soft instructions against her jaw, and when she’s so close she can’t keep from arching up off the couch, he bites down just at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, a little bit rough, and she comes, hard, Ron following a few thrusts later, face against her neck.

“Bloody hell,” Ron manages, when they’ve caught their breath, and Hermione laughs, breathless.

“Hey, love,” she says, to Harry, who’s still a little flushed but smiling, like he’s figured it out for all three of them, and she tugs him down for a kiss.

“More?” she offers, and Ron elbows her.

“He’s nineteen, not a magician,” he teases, but Harry flushes all over again.

“Actually,” he manages, and Ron groans and falls back on the couch with an arm over his eyes.

“Life is really unfair,” he says, but rolls over to pull Harry down for a kiss and nudges her knees out of the way to press him up against the sofa, summoning a bottle of lotion out of the bathroom. Hermione lets them, knees drawn up as she watches Ron stroke Harry off, murmuring against his jaw. It doesn’t take much before Harry comes again, arms sliding up around Ron’s neck. Ron murmurs a cleaning charm and rubs slow circles on his back, after, until Hermione’s pretty sure he might actually be asleep this time.

“We’re not all going to fit,” she murmurs, to Ron, who raises an eyebrow with a smile.

“It’s not as if any of us got a NEWT in Transfiguration,” he teases, and she flushes. Ron moves, lifting Harry up for a moment so she can turn the couch into a bed, and then he summons the blankets and pillows from their bedroom, wrapping an arm around her waist as she slides into bed.

“Hi,” he murmurs, and Hermione laughs, face against his shoulder.

“Hi,” she says, warm, and settles in between them. Harry moves in his sleep, breath warm against her shoulder, pressed up close.

“He’s going to try to sneak out in the morning,” Ron says, a little fondly, and Hermione laughs.

“Probably,” she murmurs.

“Do you love him?” Ron says, and she’s surprised to find she does, like she’s always loved Ron. “Because - ”

“Both of you,” Hermione says, softly. “I love both of you.”

“Yeah,” Ron says, with a grin, the one that’s always been her favorite. “Me too.”

“I don’t think our flat is big enough,” Hermione murmurs, in close. “Or Harry’s.”

“So we’ll – get a house,” Ron offers. “In the country. With lots of hedges, and apple trees. Harry’d like that.”

“An’ a dog,” Harry murmurs, from over her shoulder. “Pa’foot.”

“You’re awake,” Hermione murmurs, and Ron pretends to hit him upside the head, laughing.

“Thanks for listening in.”

“Like th’country,” Harry says, and Hermione’s pretty sure he’s not all that awake. “Walls ‘n hedgehogs ‘n chickens.”

“There are definitely not going to be any chickens, mate,” Ron says, affectionate, and ruffles his hair until Harry squirms away.

“But we could have a dog,” Hermione whispers, once Harry’s out again, with a smile.

“Yeah,” Ron says, still smiling at her. “Yeah, a dog would be all right.”


End file.
